La photographie a un prix!

20 January 2010

The uneasy art of the deal

They are coming tomorrow, the charming antiques dealers with passion for provenance and beauty. As I survey the spilling-over cabinet de curiosites that my apartment has become - in preparation for the dealers and their checkbooks - I find my eyes welling with tears.

Tears for the white ironstone collection that never got displayed in a glass-doored black wooden cupboard; a sob for the 1930s chandeliers that were never suspended over a dining table or a bed and the 19th-century lithographs that were never hung on walls already crowded with art offerings. And especially, tears for the children's games, toys and baby things that there's simply no room to keep for future grandchildren. All these collectibles have been thwarted by the lack of space in this tiny Paris apartment.

I know; I know in my heart, that these are just things. And material possessions don't matter. But when I found these particular things - here, there and yonder - in flea markets and brocantes and antiques stores - I allowed myself to imagine the house these one-of-a-kind treasures might grace. I envisioned finally having a home; actually living in just one place; feeling "safe" (even though I don't believe safe havens exist); becoming intimately familiar with the creaks and moans of a building.

I didn't expect to live in the same tiny apartment for ten years, constantly searching for creative ways to enhance our very limited space (albeit in a wonderful neighbourhood).

In part because of my over-active imagination when shopping - or changing style preferences - I've given away furniture to a friend in England and three friends in France. I've loaned furniture to another friend. Still, what remains is too much for this tiny apartment and I don't expect our next space in Amsterdam to be all that much bigger.

As I've gone through my collections and contemplated selling or giving items away, I recognise a familiar pattern: years of living out of a suitcase, traveling from place to place, always moving. Every time I felt too "settled," I'd sell my furniture and move, taking only my clothes, books, dishes and favourite art and my daughter's clothes and toys or putting everything but the essentials in storage.

Nine suitcases

Once we left nine suitcases in Amman, never to be retrieved. Long story; let's just say a friend charged with their safety proved negligent. Another time I went to the US for two months, leaving two boxes and two suitcases with friends who worked for the UN. I returned to find these "friends" sold my things, including three original oil paintings that were gifts from the artists! No, they didn't give me the proceeds and seemed genuinely surprised by my indignation.

In 1989 in San Francisco, I left precious belongings with a friend, while I went to the Middle East on assignment. She vanished, taking my things with her. So I have become accustomed to possessions disappearing (and so-called friends taking advantage of my good nature).

There's something in me that longs to be settled; to finally unpack all those bags (real and virtual) and stay in one place. But there's another part of me that is panicked at the prospect - which is why I sell things for a song, in order to move. That's why I have nearly 40 suitcases in the wine cellar, testimony to my conflicted nature: love of travel, as well as acquisition/nesting. Many a trip I've returned bearing an extra bag to carry shopping finds. I've also loaned bags to friends visiting Paris whose shopping finds exceed their luggage capacity.

While I still don't have that home, I find myself wanting less things and more space. Yes, there are books and photographs and treasures I'm holding onto, no matter how small the space I inhabit. But the things that are important to me are the tools I need to create and communicate: my computer; my cameras; my lenses. All the rest is just window-dressing. And I learned long ago I don't need any of it to survive and even thrive.

Photo above shows a small portion of a "sewing" table, ready for the antique dealers.

Nearly thirty years ago some friends moved to the UK for two years and lent us some of their furniture. They're still there! When we moved from the North Island of NZ to the south, we passed it on to other mutual friends, so it would still be in the same city when our friends came back for it. Guess it's unlikely that they will, now :)

I understand your grief, but imagine the pleasure that you get from searching for new items goes some way to compensate

I wish I lived near you I'd love to look through your finds. I understand your gypsy lifestyle... I did it for years, rented a storage unit and kept my car at an aunts house. Everyone was always asking her if the car was for sale. :) I've been in the same place for a while and miss the roaming lifestyle but also enjoy being settled.

i don't have the horror stories to share that you do Tara, of things being trusted to another's care only to find that care wasn't taken. i can definitely relate to some of your words though... half of me wanting to be ready to pick up and leave with just a couple of bags and the clothes on my back, the other half wanting to be settled somewhere that i can hang all my art on the walls, collect furniture that i love & treasure, make a home for us. we live in a furnished flat and it really doesn't feel like home at all. i hope you had a successful day with the dealers and that you are feeling okay about it all.

I agree with Stacy in everything she has said. You have all my best wishes for your future Tara. Ive bn through the same ordeal with so called friends as you. Concentrate on looking after yourself, and rely on no one. I know it hurts so very much having to part with your treasures, but, you will come through this .You might not think so at the moment, but trust me you will. Remember, LOOK AFTER YOURSELF. No one else will. You HAVE to harden your heart more, or you will get hurt. You are a wonderful girl and better than the so called friends who have walked all over you. Take care of yourself Tara, and try to be strong.Know thats easier said than done, but ive done it, so know you can and will. love kathryn in ilkeston, derbyshire, u.k. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

What a thoughtful and provocative post. I, too, suffer from the collecting gene -- All the Jeans in our family have it! Or had it! I'm blessed with a rather large basement all for storage. Still... if it doesn't get used. But we purchase things with such great expectations, don't we (says the woman who bought several prints at Vanves and now is needing some framing time! And more walls!).

Having seen your space, I can tell where you are coming from and most certainly understand. But I also understand the wee wrench in the gut knowing that soon you'll be parting with these lovely things. However, my dear, knowing you, more lovely things are to come. Chin up! I know you won't let the dealers take you for a ride!

Forty suitcases! And your 'friends' who took your things, esp. the paintings, what a horrible experience! I've given paintings to my sister under the understanding that she'd pay for them in due time (always soon, she tells me). But at least I know I can always take them back (which I probably never will). Did they tell you who they sold the paintings to? You might be able to get them back if you explained the circumstances under which they were sold.

I can relate as well to the need to nest and the need for freedom and novelty. I tend not to buy certain things because of these conflicting desires. But at least the things you're letting go of will find new homes. Here in the US a lot of us just rent a storage unit, which always strikes me as a waste.

I know it's hard to find the right balance. I feel rooted when surrounded by beautiful things I love, though I by no means am a collector of things. I have a single silk gerbera daisy in a small ceramic pot that has sat in the various bathrooms I've lived in for years. I can't seem to get rid of it--it gives me a sense of home. When you're a citizen of the world, it's nearly impossible to grow roots in one place.

It must be difficult for you to trust now, after having such horrific experiences with your so-called "friends." Oh my heart goes out to you, not even for the loss but for the sheer betrayal. That in itself is worse than losing your objects.

I try to not "attach" to things or people. But in life, sometimes it happens so any deception big or small ends up hurting very bad. Maybe we seek possessions in order to define ourselves, and when we shed our skin, or grow, or learn we purge...and begin anew. Seeking out new things to replace the old things we once cherished. I think the external deeply reflects the internal.

Please believe in safety, it does exist. Believing in things makes them so, including believing people will steal from you or hurt you. We draw the things in sometimes that we fear the most.

As for the antiques dealers...I hope the cheques they cut you are huge and you reap some benefit from your past experiences. Be ruthless yet kind in your dealings, settling only for what is fair or good for you! Give nothing away Tara. Know your value.

As for moi, I value you~! So!!! Can't wait until a few measly weeks from now. Petra, here we come.

I must say that the accounts of so called 'friends' who vanish & take your things with them left my jaw on the desk! How positively horrid! I'm sure there is a special circle of hell reserved for such charlatans! I feel sad that you have to get rid of your treasures but am excited for you at the prospect of your move & subsequent new adventures ahead! Bon Voyage!

It is a struggle, isn't it? Holding onto things. I sometimes thing I could lose everything and start fresh with only my camera and computer too. Last year I grieved not having grandchildren, but have learned to give away those things I thought I would pass on to them. Last week I gave a beautiful antique mug to a new baby, her family will enjoy it. So gradually I let go of a dream, but in it's place create new dreams. Good luck with moving forward.